Chapter 2

When the questioning ended, Mary turned bland. I wasn't sure what was up, but I figured things would take care of themselves. We chatted a bit about the cruise, she liked the idea of formal night, but some of her friends didn't like the hassle. After a bit, though, we were through, her husband came by, and they went off to do something together. I watched the kids in the pool, and wondered what this had been all about.

All sorts of things came to mind, but primarily, obviously, they were trying to make sure I wasn't some impressionable young girl who would trap Hank into something. That had to be behind that question about protection. I'd heard about things happening like that, and I could see why she'd want to make sure; or at least I sort of did. I wasn't too clear on her relationship Hank.

All of that was telling me precisely nothing. I drifted back to the cabin, and off to some more time in the sun. The ship plowed on—it gets very windy on a ship—the waves swished or swooshed, or whatever, and then it was time for a shower and getting ready for dinner.

Formal nights on a ship are just that. The men are in tuxedos, and the women are in long gowns, or short ones with plenty of glitter. Walking in heels while the ship is pitching and rolling could be a challenge, but not tonight. There was some gentle rocking, but nothing worse than we'd seen. We were all warned, however, that there was a storm coming, and we'd be into the edges of it before dinner was over.

I'd brought two formal dresses. The one I was wearing for this first formal night was a deep red, ankle-length of course, with a high collar and otherwise strapless. It absolutely clung to me, and showed off my bosom and hips (it also showed off my butt, but you can't have one without the other). It took longer to do my hair the way I wanted than it did to slip into the dress. But it was worth it. When I'm dressed up like that I look much older than 16, and I like that.

Dinner was ... dinner. It was heavy on the beef and other things, but conscious that the average person gains a pound a day on a cruise, I took small portions and left plenty on the plate. Bill, of course, hoovered everything down. Boys will do that with food. If he could have, he probably would have licked the plate.

We made idle chit-chat with our table companions, and then, reluctantly, it was time to leave. Mom and Dad were going to some place forward for drinks and a Broadway play. My sister was meeting some girls she'd met earlier in the day, and Bill was off to kill more orcs or aliens, or Nazis. That just left me, the club, and whatever it was that Mary was concerned about.

I changed into a dancing dress, something I'd made in school that looked a lot more expensive than it was. It was black, with a deep plunge front and was backless, with a slit halfway up my thigh. I had a pair of comfortable black pumps to go with them. Add a necklace and a matching pair of earrings, and a little perfume, and I was ready for whatever the evening would bring.

Mary and the others seemed in high spirits when I met them. Hank was wearing a dark gray sport coat and matching slacks. His dark eyes fairly drank in the light, and seemed to set off his sculpted features. Mary was in a navy blue dress with sparkles, and her eyes were alight. It was obvious she was intent upon some serious fun.

Hank and I danced a bit, two fast songs, and one slow one—he had marvelous hands that didn't wander—that let us melt together. We'd no sooner returned to the table when Robin, one of the other women, blonde and petite, looked pointedly at her watch.

"I think it's time," she said, and got up.

The others did, too, and I followed along, curious, as they trooped from the place. We rode down to the Dolphin Deck—which would be floor 9 in a hotel—where they made their way aft, swaying slightly as the ship moved.

Everyone was in high spirits, and I noticed a lot of touching and more than a few caresses. These people needed to seriously get a room. It looked like it was taking all of their willpower to avoid doing it right there in the passageway.

Robin and her husband had a fairly large room near the bow. There was a small sitting area with a couch, two twin beds side by side, and all the other things you found on a cruise ship. Robin, Mary, Chelsea and I ended up on one side of the cabin, standing together, and the men were on the other. There was an awkward pause of a few moments, and then the men began undressing.

I thought the guys were just removing their jackets, but no, off went the shirts, the shoes, and the pants. In moments they were down to just their shorts. Mary giggled, and dropped the straps of her dress over her shoulders. Robin and Chelsea followed suit, leaving me the only one still dressed.

My grandmother had taught me that a proper Southern Lady must always appear to conform to the local attitudes, gracefully, and as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Slipping out of my dress, and confronting a room full of people clad only in my panties was probably not what Grandmama had in mind. But there were the four of us, bare except for our panties—Chelsea's were defined as panties only because they covered the most critical point—and there were the guys, in shorts with bulging fronts.

Okay, so I should have refused and walked out of there. To tell the truth, I really thought we wouldn't get much farther than that. I still had my panties on, and I'd heard of things like this where people get mostly naked and do some serious necking. And that's what I expected. So I was showing a bit more, well, a lot more, than normal. I'd planned on some topless sunbathing on this trip anyway, and a pair of bikini bottoms were pretty much just a pair of panties, so...

Mary knee-walked across the bed, and one of the guys, not Tom, her husband, folded her into his arms. They lay back on the bed, bodies pressed together, kissing. Now that looked like fun, even if she wasn't with her husband. I went around the bed, Tom's arms went around me, and we ended up on the bed, kissing furiously.

Now I'd kissed more than just the two boys mother thought I'd kissed. But there hadn't been any tongue, and the boys I kissed weren't as enthusiastic a kisser as Tom. Or as good.

More followed. In the next couple of minutes I learned a few things. First, he had chest hair, and it scratched deliciously against my boobs. My nipples seemed to need a lot of scratching, and they perked right up. Then his lips descended on them, and I decided this was heaven. They got really hard, and it felt really really good when he sucked them. I could do this for a long time.

I could feel his lower body pressing against mine, and his manhood was stiff. I'd felt that from a couple of boys before, but when I looked down I could see it tenting the front of his boxers. There was no mistaking what it was. And feeling it pressed against my tummy was kind of fun. I know there are some girls who don't like it, but guys have 'em, and they react and get hard. That's just the way it is.

In moving I felt a wetness on my thighs. We'd covered that in health class, and I'd heard Mary Jo Robinson talk about it one day. When you get wet down there, that's your body saying that it approves of what's going on, and it's getting ready for guys to slide that thing of theirs into you. The wetness is lubrication to make it go in easier.

The kissing wasn't all one-sided. When Tom finally left my boobs alone—not that I wanted him to—I went for his. Guys have these flat ones, with flat nipples. I didn't realize that if I sucked on them, they'd get hard. Learning that was kind of fun. I followed up by kissing him all up and down his body. This was exploration, but it was all right for me to do.

I've seen the stories that boys only want one thing from a girl, and get obsessed with her body. What they don't say is that a lot of the girls I know are just as curious about a boy's body. It isn't like what we see in the mirror every morning, and we want to get to know it a lot better, intimately better. And this was my opportunity.

I kissed him everywhere I could, and even put a hand on his hardness. It felt a lot bigger than I thought it would. Like most girls my age I'd gotten some 'hands on' experience diapering a baby, and I had this mental image that a guy's thing was like what I'd seen when I'd diapered my two-month old cousin Jeremy. What I felt through Tom's shorts was anything but. This thing was as long as my hand, and pretty darned thick.

About the time I'd turned 13 I'd started thinking about sex. For one thing, it saturated the novels I was reading. The heroines always had lots of sex, pages and pages of graphic description of what it was like, with plenty of emphasis on the heat and passion. We all knew that probably wasn't anything close to the truth. For one thing, Mary Jo had told us so. We'd asked her, and she'd said it didn't feel like you thought it would, and the other girls who'd had sex echoed her. And the descriptions in the books varied so much that we knew they probably didn't really describe things.

And one of the things we all worried about was the rumored size of a guy's thing. How in the world were we supposed to fit something that big in a place where we could barely fit a finger. The books all were adamant: the first time a girl did it, it hurt. There was the hymen, and the muscles that weren't used to stretching, and so on. And that worry about pain probably stopped more girls than all of the lectures issued by our mothers put together.

From the way things were going, I knew what was going to happen, or at least I think I did. There'd come a moment when all of the clothes were off—Tom's hand was already inside my panties—and then I'd confront his member, his manhood, his thing, his dick. Would he put it in? What would that feel like? Would it hurt? Or would it be like my fingers or even a tampon?

I didn't count on Tom kissing his way down my body, and sliding my panties down with him. In seconds they were on my thighs, and he was looking at something no man, and precious few women, had seen. I automatically tried to close my legs, but he had his leg in between them. And he was kissing me just above my bikini line, and then below it.

I'd learned a lot so far, but when he began kissing and licking my sex, all cool rationality, all thought, all everything else flew out the window. That felt fantastic, better than anything I expected. And it went on and on. In seconds I was a captive of his tongue, and a worshipper, too. And he kept pressing me higher and higher, that's the only way to describe it.

I don't know what it was like when my mother was a teenager, but every girl my age had touched herself down there, and most of us had figured out a way to get off. Some used a pillow, and others their fingers, but the most popular thing at my school was the handle of a hairbrush. There's a reason teenage girls buy smooth, hard-handled hairbrushes, and keep them on the nightstand right next to their beds.

I'd done my share of playing with my hairbrush, so I had an idea of what was going on between my legs. He was making me come. I was getting closer and closer. My hands had gone to my breasts, and I was pinching and twisting my nipples. From the way things felt, this was going to be a spectacular one.

Minutes, hours, I don't know how long it took. But he took me right to that point, his tongue running roughshod on my pearl, and then he slipped a finger into me and sent me over the top.

I don't care what the romance novels say, you can't describe a climax. And after you've learned to give yourself one, you know what it feels like as you get close. And you may even have learned how to help the process. There was no doubt what it was. Everything came together, and I was through it, throbbing and crying as the waves of pleasure swept through me.

Huh. That's a pretty damned inaccurate description. Let's just say I came, and leave it at that. I came long and hard on his wonderful tongue, his clever, agile, muscular little digit. But finally I couldn't take any more, and dropped to the bed, breathing hard, and trying to cover myself with my hand.

Tom kissed my fevered skin, teasing me with that beautiful tongue, pausing at my peaks to play with them. I ran my hands down his body, feeling his beautiful back, his tight butt—no surprise, his shorts were missing—and then back up to his oh-so-strong shoulders. He was kissing me on the lips, by then, and if you've never been kissed my a man who's just licked you into a state of bliss, you don't know what you're missing.

I could feel his hardness against my thigh. I knew it would hurt going in, but I was so ready for it. I wanted it, I needed it inside me. I wanted to take it, to take him to where he'd taken me, and I wanted to do it now.

We had a brief and necessary pause. He had a little foil packet in his hand. He tore it open, and there was a ring of latex. It was a condom, and despite me using an implant, he was showing me how thoughtful he was. Most guys my age would have plunged right in, but he took the time to make doubly sure that our moment of passion would not have consequences nine months from now, even though it was the wrong time of month for that worry.

Then, with him safely sheathed in latex, we set about sheathing him where I most wanted him. Somewhere my mind was screaming "This is it! This is it!" and another part of me was trying to remember everything that was going on so I could savor it years from now.

He put it in, and Mary Jo was right, it didn't feel at all like I thought it would. I kept waiting for the pain, but there wasn't any. Instead I could feel him opening me up, and feel my insides stretching. And I felt him sliding inside me. There just aren't any words to describe it. If you have the insides of a girl, you know what it feels like. And if you don't, you can't.

As I said, I kept waiting for the pain. But it didn't come. Maybe it was the hairbrush, or maybe something else, I'd done some horseback riding and gymnastics, and something could have happened in any of those cases. And I was wet enough down there, and relaxed enough from my climax, that I gave him no barrier to breach. He pushed in—for some reason it got harder and harder to take a breath—and eventually I felt something against my bottom. It took me a moment to realize it was his balls, and that I'd taken everything this man had.

As good as that felt, it got better. He drew back, and then thrust again.

Oh.

So this was why sex was so popular. And it got even better when I started moving, too. Right away sex zoomed to the top of my list of favorite things to do.

I'd already explored his body, but not like this. I played with his nipples, I ran my hands up and down his strong arms, I gripped his iron-hard butt, feeling the muscles flex as he pushed himself into me time after time. And I drew him down for a kiss.

If I thought a kiss after a guy had made me come was great, a kiss while we were doing it was even better. This wasn't a soft, tender kiss full of deep meaning like happened to the heroines of the novels, this was a rough one, grabbed while riding the rising tide of passion. And it shot right through me, making my toes curl, making my legs wrap around him, and making my middle buck up against him as I tried to take even more.